


yeosang, seonghwa and the great comet of 1812

by sangiebyheart



Series: and no one else. [1]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Nobility, Emotional Healing, Emotional Manipulation, Friendship/Love, Historical, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Great Comet of 1812 (Musical), Inspired by War & Peace (Tolstoy), M/M, Mentions of War, References to Depression, Unhappily Married Seongjoong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23516683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sangiebyheart/pseuds/sangiebyheart
Summary: “I had thought you to be a man of honor,” Seonghwa speaks, unhindered, honest, to his friend whose head is bowed, though not in shame. “I believe I remember you saying a fallen man should be forgiven.”Seonghwa does not accuse his friend, for the accusation would be misplaced, and Jongho has greater concerns and burdens to carry without Seonghwa’s spite adding onto the dreadful weight of the rejection Jongho has suffered.And yet, Jongho smiles at him, a smile unlike its jolly fellows, malicious in a way it has Seonghwa unleash resentment onto a dear friend, for its ugliness alone.“I never said I could forgive,” the shell of a man, the deceivingly gentle ghost of his father, tells him. “Please, Seonghwa. Do not mistake my indifference for cruelty towards a man I once loved.”Or, a rewrite of the scene "Pierre & Natasha" from the musical "Natasha, Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812".
Relationships: Choi Jongho & Kang Yeosang, Choi Jongho & Park Seonghwa, Kang Yeosang & Park Seonghwa, Kang Yeosang/Park Seonghwa, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Series: and no one else. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1994404
Comments: 22
Kudos: 42
Collections: SeongSang Week 2020





	yeosang, seonghwa and the great comet of 1812

**Author's Note:**

> hello there!
> 
> before we begin, i want to say: thank you so much for giving this a chance. i hope i will do you proud.
> 
> a few things tho!  
> i used tolstoy's war and peace, as well as the musical "natasha, pierre and the great comet of 1812", especially the scene [pierre & natasha](https://open.spotify.com/track/2Dqwr0WqDG5A7pAeLWQn2V?si=fQUbDzYXTKiUj8KaK4_gOA) as inspiration, and some phrases are taken verbatim from that scene. i did not copy them entirely and tried to mix things up, but this piece does follow the aforementioned scene greatly. all credit where it is due.
> 
> other things to establish:  
> \- seonghwa and hongjoong are married, tho unhappily, as is made clear many times. no actual cheating happens, but if it does make you uncomfortable that seonghwa speaks of feelings for another man, you had better exit this fic. it will not satisfy your seongjoong needs.  
> \- the references to depression are light and drawn from my personal experience. i do not go too much into detail, but it does influence seonghwa's behavior and his thought process as well as his self-image. if you struggle with these things, proceed with caution, but i do promise you, it will end on a very hopeful note, so it should be worth it.  
> \- i do not believe hongjoong, mingi, san or jongho are in any way bad people. keep in mind that this is fiction, and i used them to fill roles yet do not think these characters' negative traits or deeds reflect on them as real people.  
> \- i took some creative liberties with the backstories. i do hope, tho, that for anyone unfamiliar with the source material, it will be enjoyable regardless  
> \- i have yet to edit this, so please be forgiving when it comes to missing words or typos. thank you.
> 
> other than that, i sincerely hope you will enjoy this. i poured my heart into this.

“I had thought you to be a man of honor,” Seonghwa speaks, unhindered, honest, to his friend, whose head is bowed, though not in shame. “I believe I remember you saying a fallen man should be forgiven.”

Seonghwa does not accuse his friend, for the accusation would be misplaced, and Jongho has greater concerns and burdens to carry without Seonghwa’s spite adding onto the dreadful weight of the rejection Jongho has suffered.

And yet, Jongho smiles at him, a smile unlike its jolly fellows, malicious in a way it has Seonghwa unleash resentment onto a dear friend, for its ugliness alone. A smile which reminds Seonghwa of Jongho’s father – a harsh man within his own right, who had been sickly and old and demanding of his son and daughter – a man Seonghwa had foolishly thought his friend would never become, as he swore and vowed to be a better gent from his childhood days on to his late youth.

“I never said I could forgive,” the shell of a man, the deceivingly gentle ghost of his father, tells him. “Please, Seonghwa. Do not mistake my indifference for cruelty towards a man I once loved.”

 _Not enough_ , Seonghwa nearly says, before he remembers to keep his mouth shut. It is his luck to have a husband who will weigh his every word on a golden scale, who will push when Seonghwa pulls, for it allows him to bury the words underneath his tongue in well-practiced patience and leave inside what is no use to either of them. Another time, Jongho will listen, though for today, all Seonghwa will do is collect what he came here for, and be well on his way. Pay his calls, and whatnot. As he always does.

“I see,” Seonghwa offers his piece of acquiescence, a stiff nod its companion. He resorts to his politeness to mask the deep-dwelling annoyance at his friend’s cool and distant demeanor. In spite of all the anger he feels for Jongho’s fiancé, as well – the one who had rejected him, no longer affianced to him, Seonghwa must keep this in mind – he cannot find sympathy within himself, not with Jongho who did not care enough to pay the man a visit, even as he is recovering from a serious illness.

Seonghwa knows Jongho has been informed of who had been and who had not been at fault, of who the true object of Jongho’s bitterness and hatred should be – as stubborn as highborn men tend to be, however, Jongho will not have it. And Seonghwa is no one to force a man with a broken spine to compete in a fight he has no intention to win.

“Thank you, my friend,” Jongho says, the edges of his lips curling downwards, as a trickle of sadness glosses over his eyes, and Jongho finally allows to open up a crack for Seonghwa to see through the façade. “Thank you for understanding.”

Seonghwa manages another nod.

They are stood in Jongho’s study, his late father’s old study to be precise, and Jongho looks so out of place in the gloominess of the room, Seonghwa has half a heart to pull him out of further misery which would afflict the poor boy if he stayed there but a minute longer. But Jongho’s steps are careful, measured – to a scarily familiar degree, and Seonghwa is reminded once more that Jongho is his father’s son in more aspects than the smile, and that each movement done just right serves as further proof of that.

Seonghwa faintly wonders if his fiancé – ex-fiancé – would have been happy here. With a guilty conscience, Seonghwa wonders if he could have been happy with Jongho.

Ah, Seonghwa thinks. Well. There is no use dwelling on a future which will never happen, anyhow.

Jongho retrieves a stack of letters from a drawer, each one in their half-opened envelopes, some white for their young life, others sprinkled with mud and even blood stains, worn from use and the many times Jongho must have read over the comforting words within their bounds. A string holds them in place, a neat bow on top on which Jongho presses his thumb.

“I trust you will take care of them,” Jongho says, directing his eyes away to the window as soon as the letters leave his palm. Seonghwa clutches them tightly, wishing that touch alone could squeeze all of the love which remains within the ink out for Jongho to see and feel once again. A last hope to a higher being that goes unheard, though Seonghwa did not expect any less of an uncaring entity like their God.

He affirms, “I will bring them to him. Along with your… message.”

Jongho’s lost eyes twitch in the light and rueful shimmers make their way to the surface – they must not catch up to his mind, as Jongho moves away from Seonghwa without another sound. The silence speaks louder all the same. Seonghwa is inclined to speak over it.

“What will you do now?”

For the last time – and it would be the last time, even if Seonghwa cannot know it yet – Jongho’s heavy, serious gaze is upon him, and he announces, “There is a war going on. Someone needs to fight in it.”

And Jongho, a decorated and dedicated officer within the imperial army, is the one to do it. Before he had returned to the city in lights of the most unfortunate news of the unexpected rejection and his father’s death, Jongho would have come home a hero with a lucrative life of family and love awaiting him – now, all he has left is a lonely sister, a father’s funeral in the coming days, and a severed connection to a disgraced young man he had once proudly called his fiancé.

Perhaps there is yet sympathy to give.

“Goodbye, my friend,” Jongho turns his back, “Give Hongjoong my regards, will you?”

And with that, Seonghwa takes his leave, swallowing down a comment on Jongho’s audacity to mention his husband when he is fully aware that his relationship – his marriage – to Hongjoong is but a sham, unhappy and without the love Seonghwa had hoped for upon their engagement. Of all people Seonghwa has entrusted with this well-kept secret, he would never have thought Jongho to show this degree of indecency towards him. Grief, the foul fiend, the common enemy of all people in war times, is a strict puppeteer, Seonghwa presumes; Jongho can only pull on his strings so much before they cut into his flesh.

On his way out, he makes certain to bow to Jongho’s sister with as much dignity and grace as she deserves, but otherwise does no attempt to conceal his discontentment. His carriage awaits him in the courtyard, and Seonghwa sprints through the biting cold to get away as fast as possible.

His arrival at the Jeong estate is a quiet affair, dulled down by the snow falling to the ground. No servants greet him at the door, but a disgruntled and visibly upset Jung Wooyoung – a man with no title of his own, adopted into the Kang family at a rather young age, after the untimely death of his parents due to an affliction with an incurable illness. He leads him into the dead silence of the entrance hall, uncharacteristically still and pale himself, though as put together as is expected of a man of his standing.

It had been Wooyoung who saved their family from a greater scandal, who had learned of Song Mingi’s intentions with his cousin in spite of a pre-existing marriage, and managed to prevent the abduction to a faraway land a week prior. “He does not wish to speak to me,” Wooyoung explains with a grave expression, the punishment for his good deed. “When that senseless, heartless fool of a man came to take him, Yunho and I could thankfully chase him away, though ever since, he has barely spoken a word to us. I fear he may never open his mouth other than in contempt.”

They meet the Count, Jeong Yunho in front of the drawing room, wringing his hands and pacing, worry instilled into his entire being. Seonghwa only knows the man as a cheery sort, spreading goodness and happiness anywhere he goes, an honest gentleman and loyal to a fault. To see him so out of his character is concerning, though they have never had to deal with such a precarious situation before either.

Upon spotting Seonghwa, however, the younger count appears to perk up and the biggest sigh of relief leaves his lungs. “Seonghwa, oh. Finally.”

“I did as you asked,” Seonghwa announces, producing the letters from the inside pocket of his coat. His mouth stumbles over an apology, then, for not arriving sooner, for not seeing sooner, for having failed in holding back his brother-in-law’s reckless desires—

“We owe you a great debt, my friend,” Yunho interrupts him, and had they not been amongst themselves, it would have been improper of him. Seonghwa might not be too strict about every fine formality, yet their social circle is ready to turn anything and anyone into a scandalous occurrence – or else, they would not be here tonight.

Seonghwa shakes his head, “There is no need for that.”

“How is the prince?” Asks Wooyoung, expectant as he is anxious.

“As well as a man with a broken heart can be, I suppose,” Seonghwa answers, searching for the best words to not worry them any further. The coldness of one known so warm will surely do so. “He is grieving, as well. These series of events have come at an… _unfortunate_ time.”

Wooyoung looks as though he much regrets the question, and answers with rueful silence.

“Will you speak to him?” Yunho asks him, a pleading look in his glassy eyes. “I am certain—Yeosang has not been very responsive to our words of comfort. Even as we assure him that we do not judge him for his… misguided ideas. But I am certain,” Yunho reiterates, “he would love to see an old friend offer his sympathy. Perhaps he will listen to you.”

“Please,” Wooyoung adds to the request, desperation intoned in every syllable. “If you can get through to him, he might allow us to come closer again.”

Seonghwa remembers a time when he had been a frequent visitor at the Kang manor, way out into the countryside. He had often received a generous welcome, friendly faces treating him as if he was part of a family for once when all his own father would ever give him was the cold shoulder. Only on his deathbed did his father recognize him as a son, and Seonghwa had turned from an illegitimate offspring sent off to another country for education into a wealthy heir to all of his father’s titles quite literally overnight.

The Kang family had stood beside him when it happened, throughout his youthful miseries and escapades; truly, it is Seonghwa who owes a debt.

In his new position as a member of highborn society, Seonghwa had been forced to move to the capital, eager to devote his time to bearing the responsibilities of a duke. Visits to his dear friends became near impossible. Three years, a swift engagement and even swifter marriage later, and Seonghwa has found himself longing for those old days on every lonely night he spends in his study.

So, “Of course,” he decides without further consideration. “I am terribly sorry I did not come to visit sooner, and now under such circumstances.”

“It is unfortunate,” Yunho agrees, “though you could not have done anything to prevent what has happened. You are too busy of a man, we are lucky you found the time for us when you were needed the most.”

Yunho, always the positive force, always sees the good in people.

Seonghwa does not have the heart to tell him that it had been enduring episodes of depression that had kept him from the house and locked up in his own instead, while his husband and his brother-in-law enjoyed the money which made Seonghwa the interesting and profitable man with whom one wanted to associate.

Truth be told, Seonghwa had been too ashamed of himself, too. Had closed himself off and pretended he was not wallowing in sorrow. Had his husband been home for longer than the few hours he had to, perhaps he would have taken notice of Seonghwa’s odd behavior and stayed away forever, Seonghwa’s decline in mental health the final straw to break the already broken camel’s back.

Maybe it is not his right to see him after all. Kang Yeosang, for Seonghwa’s entire life, his entire youth, had stood for grace, good humor, for a love for music and dance, and before he had been swept away to the city, Seonghwa had considered to ask for his hand when the time came and both would be of age.

Fate had other plans for both of them, it seems. What they must have done in their previous lifetimes to be destined to such devastation.

“I was needed when my brother-in-law made advances on an engaged man,” Seonghwa sighs. “I was needed when Yeosang prematurely broke off his engagement to Prince Jongho.”

And yet, it had taken a letter arriving late into the night – or rather early in the morning – for Seonghwa to snap out of his inactiveness; Yunho had written to him the very instant the abduction of Kang Yeosang had failed, begging Seonghwa to help them put Song Mingi into his place.

Upon finding the man giggling and drinking with Choi San – a renowned officer in the Emperor’s army and former, unsuccessful suitor of one Jung Wooyoung – and his husband Hongjoong in the club, as though nothing of note had happened, as though he had not attempted to remove a man from his home mere hours prior, Seonghwa had erupted in rage.

For his crimes against morality, Seonghwa had a stern and near violent talk with his brother-in-law, who had not been able to understand the complexity of his actions, nor would he take responsibility for them. With a substantial bribe of many, many thousand Won, Seonghwa had seen no other option than to banish him to his hometown, far on the other side of the country, where Song Mingi could do no more harm – much to his husband’s anger, though Seonghwa could not have cared less.

Hongjoong had watched his brother in his deception and manipulation, encouraging him to pursue his frivolous desires – aware that, as soon as the spark that the first sight of Yeosang’s beauty had ignited faded into smokey remnants, Song Mingi would have left Yeosang abased and heartbroken in a hotel room in a foreign country.

The memory of their simpering smiles still revolted him.

“I _was_ there, Seonghwa,” Wooyoung reminds him, taking Seonghwa’s hand into a gentle hold and his thoughts of this damned family away, “Yeosang would not listen to anyone, too caught up in Song Mingi’s games, believing the man had showed him love when all he was after was—the thrill of snatching the forbidden fruit. Of ruining the untouched innocence of a naïve man from the countryside.

“A temporary pleasure to be discarded when the deed is done,” Wooyoung finishes sadly, nostrils flaring in weathered fury.

Seonghwa squeezes Wooyoung’s delicate fingers. “He is gone, Wooyoung. He shall cause no more harm.”

“Let us pray he shall never return,” Yunho says. He gestures to the closed door to the drawing room. “He is inside. Take as long as you need.”

Wooyoung’s hands go slack and fall to his side as Yunho shuffles him away, to give Seonghwa and Yeosang the privacy they deserve.

Seonghwa allows himself another minute to breathe.

And when he goes to open the door, a creaking noise announcing his presence to the room’s sole occupant, the sight before him takes his breath right away again.

In the middle of the drawing room, there stands a broken soul, with a pale face but steady features. A man Seonghwa has last seen three years prior, last spoken to in a series of letters exchanged over the last summer, a man Seonghwa hardly recognizes as the bright and beautiful Kang heir he had once known so intimately.

“Seonghwa,” the man whispers in disbelief, and for but a single second, the friend of his youth reappears. Though technically of a higher standing, Seonghwa bows to him in greeting, and finds the beginnings of a smile he had seen on Yeosang’s face already gone when he searches his eyes.

Yeosang, for his part, lifts his arm and reaches for Seonghwa, but appears to regret the gesture instantly, crossing his arms in front of his chest and turning away in his flustered state.

“Your Grace,” Yeosang corrects himself. Seonghwa wishes it would not ache to hear him speak so detached, as though Seonghwa was above and strange to him.

Hurried steps bring Seonghwa before him, and he has half a mind to ask for Yeosang’s hand to hold. A reckless idea, as comfort is not always a treat given through touch, as much as it is for Seonghwa himself – in the early stages of his marriage to Hongjoong, his husband had allowed him the privilege of caresses, palm against palm, perhaps even a firm hold on his waist if he had been lucky. But as Hongjoong grew distant and showed his true colors to a foolish and lovestruck Seonghwa, any semblance of affection became a hard-earned act for other people’s enjoyment, never their own.

His husband sought to fill that hole in his heart with pleasures Seonghwa could not provide him. Seonghwa, however, did not have the guts to search for his own pieces of happiness within the strict confines of the world as he saw it, and helplessly watched as his husband did what he could not grow a spine to do.

Perhaps, Seonghwa thinks selfishly, he and Yeosang can find a little peace of mind in their mutual loss of opportunity.

“My dear Yeosang,” Seonghwa begins, as gentle and kind as he is able, “there is no need to be so formal with me. No title in the world is more important than our friendship.”

Yeosang’s eyes fix on his, uncertain and confused about Seonghwa's presence. “Did he send you?”

“Pardon?” Seonghwa wonders; as abrupt and direct as Seonghwa remembers him, the question does surprise him.

“Prince Jongho was your friend,” Yeosang says. “He _is_ your friend. I have heard of his return to the city, so you must have—you must have seen him. He must have told you what I have done to him.”

“No.” Seonghwa shakes his head. “No, he did not.” After all, Seonghwa has heard the story from the culprit himself.

Yeosang musters him with great skepticism, and asks, “Are you not here to accuse me of being a bad person?”

“And what good would that do?” Seonghwa counters. “I have known you my entire life, Yeosang. You are my friend as much as Prince Jongho is, and as such, I am here to see if I can offer you some comfort.”

“I am undeserving of it,” Yeosang replies, and his lip quivers. He bites it, to keep his composure, Seonghwa presumes.

He says, resolute, “Let me be the judge of that.”

“Please,” Yeosang whispers, tears finally spilling from his eyes. “You must—I know I do not deserve it. Forgiveness is something I have to earn on my own terms. But… will you tell him? To forgive me? Not now, but—”

And Seonghwa nods with so much force that Yeosang trails off into nothing, shoving those icy words of the prince into the back of his mind, even though he knows it will take more than a few gentle pleas to make him reconsider his cruel stance on Yeosang’s second chance.

Yet, in spite of the promise he has given, a white lie he believes necessary for Yeosang to allow himself to heal, Seonghwa must not keep everything from him, must not coddle him too much. “Yes, I will tell him to forgive you,” (in fact, Seonghwa has already tried, yet drastically failed,) “but he gave me your letters—”

“No, I know that—that all is over between us. There is no coming back from what I did,” Yeosang hurries to say, sniffling, and he wipes the wet stains from his face with the sleeve of his dress shirt. Seonghwa makes the unconscious observation that it is too big on Yeosang’s small frame, almost as if Yeosang chose to wear it specifically to disappear inside the voluminous fabric. “I know that it never can be.”

And oh, how much Seonghwa wishes he could assure him of the opposite, that it would merely take time for Jongho to realize that by being magnanimous, he could still have the husband he wished for, the man who had enchanted him throughout the month the prince had to spend at the Kang manor, as illness struck him upon a journey through the country. Yeosang had doted on him every day, read him stories and sang to him, until one fateful day Jongho had sung back when his strength returned to him, and the very next evening, Jongho had asked Yeosang to become his husband.

Both Yeosang and Jongho wrote to Seonghwa with the news, detailing a blossoming love with care and attentiveness, eager to tell their mutual friend that soon, he would greet them together in the city, and they could enjoy each other’s company more frequently. Seonghwa’s heart had rejoiced at the prospect of the unexpected union between two of his dearest friends, but it would be wrong to forget that it had to stem a heavy weight also.

Had fate not called Jongho away to a war before they could marry, nothing of the dreadful sort would have happened to their relationship. Instead, they had been forced into a distant engagement, the constant exchange of letters a meagre consolation in their longing for one another. With the dangers of war and their hearts’ best interest in mind, Jongho had eventually allowed Yeosang to refuse him anytime, as he could not for certain say when – or even if – he was to return home, and would not want Yeosang to waste away his youth waiting for him.

Over and over again, Yeosang had reminded his fiancé that there was no need for worry, as Yeosang would have gladly waited a thousand years if it meant he could finally be with Jongho.

To prove this, Yeosang had come to visit the city to meet with Jongho’s family – the old, horrible prince Choi, and his gentle daughter whom Jongho adored very much – to make a good first impression to the family he would be marrying into; however, the meeting had not gone well at all, with Jongho’s father spitting insults at Yeosang upon first sight, and his sister openly despising him after an unfortunate misunderstanding.

Seonghwa has spoken to Jongho’s sister, who swore that she had already made up with Yeosang and would not hold a grudge, but the old prince had been far too unkind to Yeosang; had called him an insignificant nobody from the countryside, and falsely accused him of intending to marry Jongho for his wealth.

Seonghwa can only assume that the visit must have sparked doubt within Yeosang’s heart, or else, he would never have been so susceptible to the deceiving charm of Seonghwa's brother-in-law.

“I am tormented by all the wrongs I have done him, Seonghwa,” Yeosang explains further, his voice breaking. “I let my silly doubts cloud my mind, and allowed another man into my heart, knowing I would be breaking _his_ in the process.”

This time, Seonghwa does not hesitate to take ahold of Yeosang’s hand, using his other one to gently lift Yeosang’s chin to meet his eyes. The misery is painted across his features in light blue colors, the stark rosiness of Yeosang’s lips the sole contrast to counteract its intensity.

Earnest and solemn, providing the strength Yeosang momentarily lacks, Seonghwa says, “I will tell him everything, do not worry. In due time, he will allow you to come to him, as well. All it takes is patience.”

“I will be begging on my knees for his forgiveness, then,” Yeosang swears, more tears falling. “For loving another man. I realize now that I… that I took Jongho’s love for granted before. He does not deserve to have ever associated with a reckless fool—such as myself.”

“The only reckless fool, my dear,” Seonghwa responds, a fire in his eyes he is unable to quell in time, “is the madman who sought to elope with you. A married man, no less, seeking your hand and treating you like his dirty little secret by attempting to whisk you away in the dead of night.”

“Don’t call him mad!” Yeosang recoils from Seonghwa’s touch, his tone harsher than before.

“Please, Yeosang,” Seonghwa insists. “I must know this one thing; did you truly _love_ —did you love that bad man?”

At first, Yeosang looks appalled that Seonghwa could assume any different, but appears to space out before he can voice his rebuttal. His anger dissipates into sorrowful desperation and his face crumples to pieces as he arrives at a dreadful conclusion.

“I do not know,” he whispers in the end, helpless and lost as though transformed into a child, “I do not know at all.”

Where there had been mere tears before, now Yeosang’s fragile stature breaks into convulsive sobs. He falls to his knees, too weak to hold himself upright and too overwhelmed to care. The sight has Seonghwa’s heart overflow with a greater sense of pity, and he rushes to collect Yeosang from the carpeted floor, guiding him to the nearby sofa with tender care. Seonghwa himself can no longer keep the tears at bay and removes his spectacles with one hand, rubbing his eyes to will the tears away again.

“We will not speak of it anymore,” Seonghwa says in the hopes of calming him down, adamant not to let his voice crack at the pitiful sight before him. He produces a linen tissue from his pocket, neatly folded and embroidered with his initials, and offers it to Yeosang, whose cries and heavy breaths take their sweet time to ebb away, even as Seonghwa softly strokes the back of his hands to remind him of his presence.

After all, Seonghwa’s absence on the night of the opera has caused so much pain, it is the least he can do to rectify his own wrongdoings.

He had told Hongjoong that he did not feel like going to the opera that night; to which his husband merely rolled his eyes dismissively, and prepared to go without him – Hongjoong never did have trouble finding himself companions at social events such as these, so Seonghwa did not have it within himself to even pretend to care.

With the generous gift of hindsight, Seonghwa wonders whether he would have changed his mind had he known that Yeosang would attend as well. He is not stupid – no matter how many times Hongjoong will call him so – and thus, he is aware that his brother-in-law would have spotted Yeosang regardless of Seonghwa’s meddling, but perhaps, he could have stopped Mingi from ever approaching Yeosang in the first place.

Mingi is a stubborn fellow, however; he does not respond very well to any sort of authority, and he makes no attempts to hide his disrespect towards Seonghwa. His word alone would not have made a single dent into Mingi’s plan to elope with Yeosang, that beautiful man his eyes had singled out in a crowd of hundreds of people visiting the opera that evening.

“We shall never speak of it again, my dear,” Seonghwa reiterates, quieter, a reminder to himself as well, as he personally made certain Mingi would not dare set foot into the city again. That for the sake of Mingi’s amusement, Yeosang would not have to suffer, and his unfortunate soul could neither be harmed nor misled any longer.

And if Song Mingi should breathe so much as a whisper of what had happened to another being, as unassuming and insignificant of a person they may be, Seonghwa will be the first to make him pay for it – with any means possible, he shall be most unkind.

“Seonghwa…” Yeosang sniffles, so unbearably sad that it has Seonghwa’s heart squeeze painfully inside his chest. Yeosang does not seem too eager to release more than the tremble of Seonghwa’s name, so Seonghwa fills the heavy silence with plenty reassurance. He locks eyes with Yeosang, putting all of his affections for the man into his speech.

“I have a request, Yeosang, will you allow me to ask for it?” Puzzled, Yeosang nods his assent. “Thank you,” Seonghwa says with a smile, before he takes a deep breath and gives into the urge to love, “I—I beg of you. You must consider me your friend. I care about you very much and very dearly, so… should you ever need help, or simply to open your heart to someone, think of me. I will attempt to understand you, to be of aid as much as I am able. I promise you this with my whole heart and I hope you will accept it.”

The quiet with which he is greeted afterwards is deafening to Seonghwa’s ears, and he cannot help but watch Yeosang intently as he waits for his response. The younger man’s lower lip quivers when he opens his mouth and closes it again, and Seonghwa fears that he may have accidentally robbed his poor friend of his abilities to speak.

“Not now,” Seonghwa adds when it seems as though minutes pass without a reaction, and Seonghwa is afraid to have scared Yeosang off. “When your mind is clear. When you are ready and comfortable with me. I would not—force you.”

Yeosang gasps – truly, unhinderedly _gasps_ out loud – and tears his hands away from Seonghwa’s touch, clutching his mouth in shock instead. Seonghwa straightens his back in anticipation of a scolding, for allowing his vulnerability to come to the surface, for lowering his guard because he had thought Yeosang to be the one person who would not so easily discard his love.

Perhaps Hongjoong is right after all, and Seonghwa _is_ as stupid as he says.

“Why would you speak to me like that?” Yeosang finally asks, shaking in every body part. He sounds out of his mind, out of this world, having lost his footing and relying on disorientation. “I am not worth it. Do you not realize this, Seonghwa? You are better off without my weight dragging you down, and your name through the dirt with it.”

“Stop,” Seonghwa halts him, reaching out his arms to steady Yeosang, but he draws back even further. “Yeosang, I understand it must be—difficult—to see the light at the end of the tunnel, but—”

“But what?” Yeosang all but cries. “I am a disgrace to society, to my family!”

“That is not true, my dear,” Seonghwa denies with impatient vehemence. If one Song Mingi can do as he pleases with men and women alike and still be regarded as an honorable member of society – lacking the grace and honest regret Yeosang so clearly possesses – then it is more than possible for Yeosang to enjoy the sun once again. He must not drown in his sorrows before then, though, and endure in his struggle to swim to the surface.

But Yeosang kicks and screams at his surroundings, and he does not realize that it makes the path to air all the more unbearable. “Is it not? Tell me, then, who would want me after all this? Who would want to associate with an unfaithful creature who is easily fooled and naive, let alone _marry_ such a man?”

Yeosang’s voice fades into a devastated whimper, and he buries his head in his hands as all hope leaves him. Seonghwa inches closer to him on the sofa, but he is intent not to touch – Yeosang appears as frightened as a wounded animal, having crawled into his hiding space to evade the hunters eager to finish the deed.

And it is up to Seonghwa to keep him safe.

“You have your whole life before you,” Seonghwa reminds him in a softer tone.

At the pinnacle of his defeat, Yeosang whispers, “Before me? No, all is over for me,” so low and near inaudible that Seonghwa almost does not hear him at all.

And for a minute, Seonghwa is lost for anything else to say, and he is close to abandoning all faith himself.

Who was he to think he or his words could ever have enough power to affect Yeosang in such a way that it would make him feel better? Yeosang must sense Seonghwa’s own inner struggles, must find it hard to believe the hypocrite Park Seonghwa, who is barely capable of managing his troubles and turmoil, so how does he expect to cheer up another person with just as much – if not more – emotional distress?

All Seonghwa has ever wanted in his life, was to love, and to be loved just as deeply. Many speak of him as a kind man, if with a melancholic disposition, and although he has never been inclined to disagree, he often wonders what good it does to offer up kindness, when he has rarely ever received it in return.

Few people have been an exception, and Seonghwa could count them all on one hand.

Prince Choi Jongho, his closest friend, now hardened by the trials and tribulations of war and a broken heart;

Count Jeong Yunho, a force of positivity, independent and uncaring of how society views him;

Kang Yeosang, the man Seonghwa could imagine by his side until the end of his days, direct and honest and precious in every way. A missed opportunity Seonghwa only acknowledged when it had already been too late.

Oh, if only things were not as they are – if Seonghwa had not married a man he barely knew, who would treat him as a husband in the public eye but never in their private chambers, who had grown bored with Seonghwa a mere week into their marriage.

They are both unhappy with one another. Far unhappier even, should they go through a separation, torn to pieces by their social circle and marked as scandalous. Perhaps, if Seonghwa was not such a coward, he could be above that, but.

Things are as they are. Seonghwa is as he is.

Although.

If he could change everything, Seonghwa would. If he could start over again, Seonghwa would ask how to cast the spell and turn back time.

If…

“If I were not myself,” Seonghwa begins, staring ahead, thinking aloud, “but… the brightest—the handsomest—best man on earth… A man who would be worthy of your attention.”

Seonghwa gathers his courage and falls to his knees before Yeosang, gazing up at the man with a pleading glance until Yeosang lifts his head in confusion, looking back at him with big eyes, red and swollen from his crying.

“And… if I were free—”

Free of his doubts and worries, free of the fragility of his self-worth, free of—Hongjoong.

“I would get down on my knees this minute—”

Seonghwa stops for a second, remembering his position, adds, “Oh, I suppose I already am,” in a mumble and delights in the way Yeosang’s mouth curves up ever-so-slightly at Seonghwa’s awkwardness.

“I would—I would ask you for your hand. Because, Yeosang, my dear, you _are_ desirable. You are good at heart and caring and considerate, so ridiculously humorous, I have never laughed as much with other people as I did with you, even as you were teasing me. Somehow, I do not mind it when you jest.”

Yeosang gives a quiet chuckle, almost in disbelief, and Seonghwa joins him for but a second before he wills himself to sober up. Seonghwa shudders through a breath and locks eyes with Yeosang, staring deep into his soul, and delivers the final confession of his greatest wish, “I would ask you for your love, if you are willing to give it.”

Both of them appear to be dumbstruck in the immediate aftermath. Words could not possibly follow in the wake of such meaningful emotions, and Seonghwa understands how Yeosang must need a moment to collect his thoughts.

For now, it suffices that Yeosang reaches out to take the spectacles off Seonghwa’s face, who had started crying once again.

They are too keenly aware that this is not a true proposal – that it should not be, given their many contradicting circumstances. Rather, it is a promise – a promise of devotion and love for a lifetime, a promise to stand by each other’s side even as the world turns against them.

Neither can take the other’s burdens away from them – the path to healing is an individual one, rocky and hard and difficult to bear, and yet, as Seonghwa watches the fond and grateful expression bloom on Yeosang’s face, he rediscovers a spark which had lain dormant all this time, and lets hope reignite within himself.

Yeosang’s whispered, “Thank you,” lends him wings, too.

And although minutes pass as they stay in the comfort of their cocoon, time goes and goes as fast as lightning, and before Seonghwa knows it, Yeosang rises to his feet, pulling Seonghwa with him. They may not be much different in size, but the few extra centimeters Seonghwa has on Yeosang allow him to draw the man close to his chest and pillow his head onto his shoulder, as their hearts start to beat in sync.

Their peace does not last as long as Seonghwa wishes it would. Soon enough, Yeosang disentangles himself from Seonghwa’s hold – _too soon, far too soon_ – and goes to exit the room with a smile.

In the doorway, he turns around with one last glance.

“I would accept,” Yeosang answers him, weeping tears of joy, “in a heartbeat.”

Seonghwa nearly chokes on the sincerity behind those six simple words. He does not remember a time where he has felt as happy as he does in this very moment and he cannot help it;

Seonghwa begins to laugh, alone in this large drawing room, though his soul does not feel quite so lonely anymore.

Seonghwa is no fortune teller.

He cannot know that he and Hongjoong will go their separate ways come morning, an amicable breakup in contrast to their whirlwind of a relationship, nor that he will not be hearing from his husband until their annulment has gone through and Hongjoong sends him a letter from another continent years later, detailing his life with a new husband and an apology for wasting their years in misery.

He cannot know that Jongho will fall in his efforts to win the war for his country, nor that Seonghwa will not be able to see him before he dies. An infection will be his inevitable downfall, the result of a grave injury inflicted on the battlefield – it is ironic how, of all the people who would try and nurse him back to health in spite of the less than promising odds, it will be Yeosang to make the attempt. In the days before Jongho will breathe his last breath, Yeosang will care for him to the best of his abilities, reminiscent of their first days together when they were no more than strangers falling in love. Jongho will grant Yeosang forgiveness.

He cannot know that his own purpose in life will become clear, nor that he throws himself into his studies and uses his money to help aid the people afflicted most by the war, during those trying times and long afterwards.

Most of all, Seonghwa cannot know that his path will cross with Yeosang’s three years later, when they are both eager to repair what the war has left broken. The reunion is heartfelt and long-awaited, neither of them quite the same person they are now, but more grown, more mature, more content with themselves.

(He cannot know that, this time, his proposal will no longer be hypothetical.)

(And neither will Yeosang’s answer.)

For tonight, Seonghwa is satisfied with the little knowledge he possesses of the future.

It is regained hopefulness which spurs him on, after all.

And for now, that is enough.

**Author's Note:**

> if you have arrived at the end, i am insanely grateful to you. thank you for giving this a chance.
> 
> i would love nothing more than to hear your thoughts. seriously. take the time and leave me something nice in the comments, i will not take you long, yet it will make my entire day, i promise you that. be kind to your local fic writers haha <3
> 
> for more kpoppies and musical nonsense, consider following me on twitter. :> i don't bite
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/woojinblooms) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/woojinblooms)


End file.
